


d i s i n t e g r a t i o n

by YlviAndTheAbyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Bits of fluff, Childhood Friends, Dominant Tom Riddle, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Friends to Lovers, POV Harry Potter, POV Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Rough Sex, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YlviAndTheAbyss/pseuds/YlviAndTheAbyss
Summary: They were two parts of the same whole. Growing up together in that dismal orphanage, the so-called freaks, they’d found solace and understanding in only each other. They’d ascended hand in hand to a new world where they truly belonged, where they grew stronger every day. They were destined for greatness, Tom knew, and nothing or nobody would separate them. Not even themselves.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 7
Kudos: 110





	1. d e s p o n d e n c y

**Author's Note:**

> _This fic is brought to you by the letter **D**._

  


Their lives had changed so much already, but they do so even further after Holly is sorted into Gryffindor House and Tom into Slytherin House.

Though still in proximity at Hogwarts, they’ve never been further away from each other. The vastness of an ocean might as well lie between them. Tom is aloof in the way she had only known him her first few weeks at Wool’s. Holly is caught quite of guard by his cool demeanour when she takes the seat next to him in Potions. They might as well be strangers.

Six years they had been inseparable and it took only one moment to ruin them for Tom. A bitterness grows inside Holly, insidious and ugly. With it she tempers her heart, refusing to let it break under the weight of his indifference.

In their shared classes Holly sits at the very back. At dinner she faces away from the Slytherin table. The library she avoids almost entirely, regardless of how she itches to peruse the shelves for hours. 

It goes on like this for a week. Holly refuses to cry, but she really wants to.

Just when she feels she might weep in frustration, Tom materialises like a pale spectre. On her way back early from dinner one night, he steps into her path to Gryffindor tower. She feels the warning sting of impending tears, but Holly draws on her anger, steeling herself.

”I’m _so_ sorry,” Tom says without preamble, looking as tired as she felt. And he _sounds_ it. Holly believes him, she really does. But she still feels the weight of crushing loneliness in her bones. After a week of abject misery —a week which should’ve been the _best of her life_ — all she can do is stand motionless as Tom wraps his long arms around her.

“I was a... It was stupid of me to be angry,” Tom says into her hair. “I thought we’d be together, but we’re not. It’s not your fault—I know that—and I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry. _Please_ , Holl. Please forgive me.”

So she does. Just like that. Because it’s _Tommy_ and he’s never sounded like this before. Because for so long it had just been them against the world.

“I’ve missed you... you great arse,” Holly says in reply, voice quivering around the words. She pushes her face into Tom’s chest because it’s then that the tears come. Relief washes over her and she slumps against him.

Tom doesn’t say he’s missed her as well, but he doesn’t have to. It’s there in the way he holds Holly tight as she takes in stinging breaths. It’s there in the way he backs up to wipe her tears away with the sleeve of his robes. It’s in his solemn promise to never make her cry again.


	2. d e s p e r a t i o n

  


He hears the decrepit old hat shout “ _Gryffindor_!” and it feels as though he’s trapped in a nightmare. While true he hadn’t many, Tom always managed to wake himself up. But this isn’t a dream; he won’t wake. He must watch with unblinking eyes as Holly saunters to the Gryffindor table.

Tom is so taken aback he can hardly think straight. Hadn’t they agreed Slytherin house sounded the best of the four after reading about them all in _Hogwarts: A History_? Merlin himself was in Slytherin. And Holly had absolutely beamed when Tom said its colors matched their eyes...

Once he recovers from the initial shock, he feels something else take hold of him. Because there it was: irrefutable proof they weren’t as alike as he’d thought. And... surrounded by her new house mates, Holly could decide she had no need him anymore.

Tom is hurt. He is angry. He is _frightened_. Fear is not an emotion he’s particularly familiar with. It isn’t an emotion that he _handles_ particularly well.

Ignoring the clear separation of the houses that Slytherin and Gryffindor students self-imposed, Holly settles down next to him in Potions with a “Morning, Tommy!” and a little grin. As though she hadn’t abandoned him. As though there were _nothing_ wrong at all. It only stokes the flames of agitation burning inside him. Tom cannot play pretend along with her.

He doesn’t consciously decide to push her away, to keep away, but it happens just the same. And Holly seems to not be bothered in the slightest by his absence in her life. She doesn’t approach Tom again, never even so much as looks his way. 

The days pass and he feels more and more a fool for having expected an apology.

One night Tom catches the back of Holly’s unmistakable head as she leaves dinner. He follows behind, all the while willing her to look back at him. She never does, not once in the two nights he follows her. Each time she walks the same brisk pace and disappears behind the portrait of a large woman in a hideous dress covered in ruffles and bows.

At night he can’t rest properly, not with the sickening feeling (regret?) welling up in his gut. So Tom lays awake in the dark. He listens to that posh prick Malfoy’s faint snoring until sleep finally takes him.

Saturday morning Tom’s first to wake, showering in cold water and dressing quickly. He waits outside the Great Hall for Holly, but she never comes.

Later that night Tom sees her in the library, looking rundown and forlorn. Despite the array of food now at their fingertips, Holly appears to have _lost_ weight. Purple streaks underlined her eyes. Seeing this pale imitation of girl who shone so brilliantly, Tom knows he’d been mistaken. Holly needed him as much as he needed her. 

His apology comes swiftly, easily. Tom takes her into his arms without a thought, but Holly stands rigid and unyielding as stone.

“I was af... “ he starts, but he can’t finish the sentence, can’t say it out loud, can’t admit he was a coward. “It was stupid of me to be angry,” he says instead. He begs her forgiveness. _That much_ he can do.

As Holly sinks into his embrace and shudders with silent tears, Tom feels another foreign emotion take him. (self-loathing?) For being so weak. For putting those wretched tears into Holly’s vibrant eyes. Never again, he promises, would he be the cause of them.


	3. d e s i r e  ( h o l l y )

  


They excel in their new world, Tom especially. He’d always been clever, but he displays an innate talent for magic. Holly isn’t gifted, but she’s a voracious reader and applies herself, so she does quite well. While she doesn’t particularly like History of Magic, doesn’t know how Tom can even manage to _stay awake_ , she enjoys the rest of her classes.

But flying... There’s _nothing_ like flying. Holly’s never felt so alive, so unconstrained as when she takes to the sky. Though he doesn’t understand her interest in Quidditch in the slightest, Tom congratulates her after she makes Seeker in their second year. He attends every one of her matches. He doesn’t even tease her for sparing no expense in her choice of broom.

It had been the strangest thing to find a full vault waiting for her in Gringotts at eleven years old. She’d felt more the heroine of a novel, less like _Holly_. The biggest comfort of the discovery was that her parents were respectable people, not at all the degenerates the Dursleys portrayed them to be. Tom referred to her in jest as “Lady Potter” all the rest of their day in Diagon Alley. Though he’d gladly accepted her gift of _Hogwarts: A History_ , he was adamant in denying Holly’s assistance with any of his purchases. She learned to stop offering. But every birthday and every Christmas she made sure Tom unwrapped a new book.

~ ~ ~

On weekends where they find the time, Holly and Tom practice outside of Duelling Club very often to the point of exhaustion. They draw their wands near the lake and fall to the ground together once the energy is sapped from their bodies. Laying side by side, eyes on the sky above, they speak of everything. When they’re children, it’s all wonder and awe at the new world they’ve come to. In their fifth year they start to contemplate what life after Hogwarts will be like for them.

“You’ll be the star seeker for a professional bloody Quidditch team, I expect,” Tom says with good-natured distaste.

“Don’t worry, Tommy, I’ll still have time for you,” Holly teases. “After the Harpies take me on I’ll make sure you get tickets to watch us win the cup. You can sit with ol’ Sluggy.”

Tom’s amused chuckle makes her heart race. She’s always loved being the only one to make him laugh, _really_ laugh. Holly loves it especially so after his voice takes on that low, rich quality.

Instead of standing and offering his hand to lift her from the grass like usual, Tom leans towards her on his elbow. He combs fingers slowly through her hair. He voice is soft when he says, “I’ve always loved it, you know; your wild hair...”

Holly feels a tingling in her scalp from his gentle tone, from the tenderness of his touch. She hums in response, her eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation. When she opens her eyes, Tom’s gaze is at her lips.

 _Will he...?_ , she thinks.

But he doesn’t. Tom blinks as though awakening from a trance and he rises from the grass. 

“We should get back,” he says, holding his hand out to her. “There’s a book I’ve been meaning to check out from the Restricted Section.”

Holly does her best to push down her disappointment, but the sense of longing pervades her on their walk back to the castle.

When they meet in their corner of the library, after baths and a change of clothes, she can’t possibly focus on her essay. Holly taps her quill softly in thought, drops it onto mostly blank parchment. She watches Tom’s long fingers turn the pages of his book. She watches his full, pink lips. Her fingertips grip the pleats of her skirt in mounting frustration.

After a while Tom’s grey eyes meet hers in question and Holly can’t bear it any longer. She crosses the space between them and takes his face into her hands. 

“Kiss me, Tommy,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his. Her tongue seeks his in the way she’d heard Parvati and Lavender giggling about.

Tom stills at first, then deepens their kiss. He tastes of the dark chocolate she’d brought in her bag. With her robes hanging behind her chair, Holly can feel his warm hands (like brands) through the fabric of her gymslip.

They split apart when a Ravenclaw boy utters “Tisk tisk.” and pulls a tome from a nearby shelf, quietly quoting, “ _For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo_.”

Holly rolls her eyes and tries to hide her embarrassment at having been caught, though she can feel the heat of her cheeks. Tom smoothes his parted waves back into place. He sets to putting his things into his bag. 

“To a more private location?” he says with that crooked smile that’s only for her.

~ ~ ~

In the bliss of the season they find the perfect room where they can be alone. The bed is soft at her back, Tom warm above her. Their lips part in unison as he eases his hardness into her. It hurts a little that first time, but it feels _so_ good as well.

 _Even his cock is pretty_ , Holly thinks the first time she takes it in hand, so long and warm to the touch. She comes to crave it. Sometimes she even takes it into her mouth the way she’s heard Lavender complaining about. Holly doesn’t share her aversion to the act, though. She _loves_ the sounds Tom makes. She relishes his loss of perfect composure, and the feeling that—despite his hand in her hair— he is at her mercy. Holly swallows his release without complaint.

And Tom gives as good as he takes. He excels at _everything_ ; of course he would at this too. He holds Holly’s legs to lick at her slit, to suck on her nub until she whimpers incoherently and feels her orgasm hit like crashing waves against a cliffside.

One afternoon, Tom toys lazily with her folds until Holly’s so slick and desperate that she’s begging, “ _Fuck me, Tommy_.” 

He smiles a wicked little smile. “If you insist,” he says, the smug git, then he turns her over on hands and knees to take her quick and deep from behind, just the way she likes it. 

He only slows to rub his pretty fingers into her swollen nub so she’ll cry out and pulse around his pretty cock.

~ ~ ~

In her dorm mate’s late night conversations about boys she hears the question. 

“Has he told you he _loves_ you?” Parvati asks Lavender as the two recount their respective Hogsmede dates and ready for bed.

Holly doesn’t quite know what the word means, _love_. Not really. She knows it only from books. She knew it wouldn’t be so, had she been brought up by her own parents and not the Dursleys. (When Petunia left her at Wool’s at five years old, Holly felt only relief.)

Tom and Holly _make_ love, but Tom has never said ‘ _I love you_.’ Though neither has she. And it’s not something Holly needs from him, not really. Tom calls her _his_ and she imagines it’s much the same. 

“My little lioness,” he says when he plays with her hair while they lay exhausted, tangled up in sheets.

~ ~ ~

In the past Tom had never expressed any misgiving about Holly’s friendship with Ron, but now he looks on the boy with a suspicious eye.

“Weasley wants to fuck you,” he says tonelessly, breaking his silence on their walk to Hogsmeade one morning.

At breakfast Ron had clapped her on the back, still tickled from the previous day’s match where Holly grabbed the Snitch right out from under Malfoy’s pointed nose. “Took that smirk off his stupid face for a while,” Ron had said loudly, gleefully.

“Oh come off it, Tommy. Everyone knows it’s Hermione he fancies,” Holly replies. “Ron only sees me as a friend.”

When they’re sitting in The Three Broomsticks, Holly directs Tom’s attention over to the corner, where Ron and Hermione sit laughing with Seamus, Dean, Parvati and Lavender. Ron’s arm is around Hermione’s shoulders, his ears as pink as Hermione’s cheeks.

“See, silly boy?” Holly smiles, folding Tom’s fingers into hers under their table. After a moment she teases, “It’s nothing like you and Black.”

Tom only scoffs. “You’d think she’d take the hint after a while. It’s not as though I’d speak two words to her if she didn’t initiate the conversation. But what can you expect from the absurdly inbred, I suppose...”

Though Tom’s problem with Ron is taken care of, there’s still comments from boys of every year to deal with. Holly knows she’s talked about because she’s heard the conversations for herself, always after Quidditch when Gryffindor emerges the victor. She and Tom are walking the shelves to their little corner of the library when they hear a group of older Slytherin boys. Holly recognises their voices from Dueling Club.

“Potter’s quite fit. Too bad she’s not a Pureblood, eh?”

“Or is it?” a second boy counters. “I’d wager a Halfblood is more eager to get on her knees for you.”

Holly grabs Tom’s arm to stop him. “Come on,” she whispers as he furrows his brow at her. She tries to pull him away, but he’s much taller than her and weighs a good deal more.

“Potter _is_ a spirited little thing,” another boys says. “Bet she likes it rough...”

 _Well he’s not wrong_ , Holly thinks wryly as Tom jerks from her grip and steps out of the shelves. The boys sputter in surprise, all rushing to apologise. Harry laughs silently as one has a coughing fit.

Later that night Tom takes her up against a wall. 

“Say you’re mine,” he commands into Holly’s neck.

They hadn’t even made it to their room. In his impatience, Tom had pulled her into a dark storage chamber to bury his cock deep inside her.

“ _Say it_ , little lioness,” he repeats, coming to a still.

“I’m yours, Tommy, _only yours_ ,” Holly breathes. “And you’re mine.”

Tom thrusts into her with a fervour, and there’s a thrilling blend of pleasure and pain when he bites into her neck as he comes.


	4. d e s i r e  ( t o m )

  


His first month in Slytherin house he becomes well acquainted with the term ‘Mudblood’ and the intimidation techniques of Pureblood boys. Tom takes his treatment in stride, takes in some choice reading, and bides his time. He’s well accustomed to standing out for his differences, after all.

The Sacred 28’s scions thought to scare some respect into him, but it’s _they_ who come to fear _him_. They wake in their beds to venomous snakes atop their chests and they know what an enormous mistake it was to provoke him.

“I was rather hoping we could be friends...” Tom says. “...but it’s no great loss to me if we’re not. I have plenty of friends, you see.” 

At his sibilant direction the snakes hiss and curl aggressively in the faces of his aspiring tormentors. Their legs heavy and their arms useless at their sides, some boys scream that he’s mad, some beg his mercy. (The ones who have done nothing to him maintain control of their bodies. No reptile threatens them. They are silent witnesses to everything that unfolds.) 

After making his point, Tom calls the snakes to him. He vanishes them once they’ve gathered. Then the apologies come in; sometimes one by one, sometimes in a flurry of voices. The situation plays out slightly different each time, in several of the boys dormitories, but it’s always the same in the end: None of them calls him a Mudblood, curses him, or decries him as a disgrace to Slytherin house ever again.

It is deeply gratifying how the thing that had attracted harassment from muggles is what secures his housemate’s respect. Tom had always known he was exceptional, but it’s the sweetest vindication that even here he is set apart.

~ ~ ~

Over the years Tom realises how truly ridiculous he’d been to worry after their sorting. Regardless of their placement, Holly and Tom grow even closer as they age. Most of their time outside of classes is spent together. They work and read for hours in the library. When she has no Quidditch obligations, they practice their spellwork and hone their reflexes down by the lake. They find passages and other curiosities around the castle. Though they socialise a good deal with housemates, those people amount to only shadows in their peripherals. 

~ ~ ~

The Second Great War was something much discussed at Hogwarts. Mudblood and Halfblood students worried for their families and waited on letters. After the Blitz they huddled together on the stone benches surrounding the courtyard, speaking in hushed voices or weeping in their friend’s or sibling’s arms. Pureblood students walked the castle largely unaware of the muggle world, classes and exams their only concerns.

Tom never thinks about the war. If the orphanage he was born in was now a crumbling pile, well then good riddance to bad rubbish. Since their very first year at Hogwarts, Holly and he had stayed over the summer. The castle’s doors were open to all those who would be affected by the war, so they hadn’t been back to Wool’s in years. Hogwarts was their home now, their first _true_ home. 

~ ~ ~

Tom is cognisant of the changes in Holly, of course he is. The weight she gains from proper nourishment suits her very well. And her hair is a sight to behold. It’s always had a mind of its own, but half a decade of growth has only added to its unruliness. Most girls their age cut, pin back, twist up, and do whatever else to their hair, but not Holly. Her auburn curls spiral down her back and over her shoulders in a comely mane. 

It’s the other things that really capture Tom’s attention, though. Things like the curve of her breasts under her gymslip, the exposed skin of her thighs when her skirt rides up. His sexual education is well under way, so he knows what he wants from Holly, what he craves.

For all their supposed good breeding, his housemates are as red-blooded as the lowest-born Hufflepuff and inclined to kiss and tell. Lounging in the common room, they recount their sexual encounters as casually as discussing the weather. Younger boys listen raptly, cataloging the information for future use. But Tom has the advantage over his peers: he can see it all straight from the minds of the recounters. Every hand stroking under a skirt in a secluded corner of the library. Every act of oral stimulation in a hidden passageway. Every coupling in a storage chamber.

They’re well into their fifth year when Tom can’t help it. He’s laying in bed at night and he must take his cock in hand. Because he’d _seen it_ , he’d seen the shape of Holly’s mound through the clinging fabric of her knickers. Couldn’t take his mind off it. All because that afternoon when they’d duelled, Holly slipped down a hill. Tom rushed to aid her, but she was unhurt, merely embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed as she stood. Her brow was arched in dismay as she smoothed the pleats of her skirt over her hips. The sight was burned into his mind. 

~ ~ ~

One evening Holly kisses Tom in the library. She slips her tongue into his mouth to find his. It catches him off guard, truthfully. It’s not surprising in itself —she was a bold one, his girl— Tom just thought it would be he who made the first move. He’d been aching to. It was no small thing, though. Tom was wary of any change to their dynamic if Holly rejected his advances. It had stayed his hand. 

But Holly is as untamed and unpredictable as the hair on her head. She has no such reservations, nor any qualms about necking in the library. Not until they’re mocked with the works of William Shakespeare, at least.

~ ~ ~

They find the room because they have need of it. It’s quite large inside, but mostly empty. Because they do not require more, there is only a bed, side tables, and a door to a water closet. 

Holly’s always been his, but there Tom makes her so in body as well as soul. 

She looks so bloody lovely below him, her wildfire hair splayed out on the pillow. When Tom sinks into her warmth, the grip of her cunt nearly undoes him. He closes his eyes and stills inside her.

“Are you all right, Tommy?” 

Tom opens his eyes and looks into the vividness of Holly’s. _Nobody else has eyes that green_ , he thinks.

“You feel so good, Holl— Better than I’d imagined.”

“Have you... thought about it a lot?” She somehow manages to sound so shy, to look so angelic when her cunt’s enveloping his cock.

“I have,” he breathes, moving again. “So.many.times.” He emphasises each word with a deep thrust, eliciting the sweetest sounds from Holly’s lips. 

Her little moans spur him on. Tom slides out and pushes back into her again and again. Slowly. Deeply.

“That day... I wanted you right there... at the bottom of that hill... where anyone could see...”

Holly swears and clenches around him. Tom knows he won’t last. 

“You... wouldn’t’ve stopped me, _would you_...” 

“No, Tommy,” Holly gasps, her nails digging into his back. “...I wouldn’t’ve.”

Tom shudders his release inside her with a taut groan.

~ ~ ~

On weekends they stay the night in their room. They spend hours learning each other’s bodies, discovering what drives the other mad. His little lioness proves insatiable.

One Friday night Holly advances on him before he can even get a word of greeting in. Tom had scarcely closed the door behind him when she drops to her knees in front of him. With quick precision she unbuckles his belt, pushes his trousers and shorts down to his thighs and takes him into hand and mouth. He groans when she runs the velvet of her tongue over the tip of his cock and sucks on it. 

With a handful of her curls, Tom pulls Holly off to look up at him.

“Did you miss my cock, little lioness?” 

“I did, Tommy,” she says breathlessly. “Last night I thought about it... and I touched myself.”

“Fuck—“

Tom can’t take it. 

“Get on the bed,” he says roughly. “On your hands and knees.”

He pushes up Holly’s skirt and jerks her knickers down. He pulls his trousers and shorts down to his knees. With one hand at her hip, Tom guides himself straight into Holly without a thought for preparation. 

But Holly is wet and keen for him. She welcomes Tom in with an arch of her hips. They cry out in unison at her impaling and the room echoes with the sound. Tom holds her in a bruising grip and he takes Holly fast and deep. The lewd sounds of slapping flesh fill the room. Tom basks in her tightness, in the wanton moans that catch in her throat. 

His orgasm hits him suddenly, violently. His hips jerk into Holly’s in drawn out motions without rhythm. They collapse into a heap on the bed, clothes still in disarray.

Tom pulls Holly into his arms and as they lay catching their breath.

“You’ll be the death of me, you know,” he says.

The next night Tom lays against the pillows, enjoying the view of Holly lowering herself onto him. She rides Tom without inhibition, leading him to climax over and over again. Before long he’s utterly spent, bone-weary, nodding off as Holly rubs her wetness into his softened cock. 

“Have mercy on me, little succubus,” Tom teases languidly.


End file.
